Mom? Mum? Can I talk to you?
My voice quivered. Both of them looked up at me. Moms head was in Mums lap. Mum was slowly stroking her forehead, leaning down to kiss her forehead while still staring at me intently. A satanic bible was placed in Mums lap, the thin, withered pages torn in a few places from continued reading. You know you can talk to us about anything, Mom said, smiling, sitting up a bit straighter. She leaned over to kiss Mum, who kissed her back. I took a seat on the couch and pulled my knees up to my chin, staring down at my cuticles. Even for a guy, they were pretty nasty.
I know, it's called an anniversary. I'm not that awful at the English language.
Year-a-versary sounds better anyways. It tells people how long I've been around. It isn't obscure like 'anniversary' or 'birthday' which both require the follow up question of 'How many years has it been?'
Regardless. . . I've been here a year now.
There has been many tits I have written about, plenty of milky fun, some shameless plugs, and some cool friends I've met along the way. If I'm cynical, I figure I would have done more in this year but if I practice even the tiniest drop of gratitude, I deduce that I'm unbelievably happy, tremendously blessed, and. .
My name is Akira Haneda, and even though it might not seem like it, I'm actually a girl. Ever since I started University, people have been mistaking me for a boy. It's kind of a new sensation for me. When I was in High School, I was sort of a plain girl. I wouldn't say I was ugly or pretty, but somewhere in the middle. There wasn't anything remarkable about me, other than I was unremarkable. So I guess I stopped trying. I was the type of girl who wore tights under her uniform's skirt.
I got really sick my second year of High School and had to spend a few months at home. To make it easier on me, I cut my hair short. I suppose that's when